


Something Good

by deadinderry



Category: Metallica
Genre: sorta kirk/cliff? if you squint?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinderry/pseuds/deadinderry
Summary: The first thing Kirk saw when he woke up was Cliff.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Something Good

**Author's Note:**

> so, very short, just a little fluffy piece, nothing with any depth to it but maybe something nice anyway

The first thing Kirk saw when he woke up was Cliff.

It was a little weird—to just open your eyes and see Cliff Burton sitting at the foot of your bed, reading a book. Not something you saw every day, even if you did spend most of your waking time with him.

“Hi?” Kirk tried.

Cliff glanced up. “Hi.”

“Is there… a reason why you’re reading on my bed?”

“Thing one and thing two are being annoying,” Cliff said. “And you have a lock on your door, you lucky bastard.”

Kirk laughed, a little, and pushed himself to sit up. Cliff offered him a joint, and Kirk took it. Nothing like getting real-high after shaking off a sleep-delirium. They sat in silence for a little bit, and then Kirk wriggled to sit next to him. “What are you reading?”

“Short stories,” Cliff said.

“Are they good?”

“They’re okay.”

Cliff put the book down. It was then that Kirk noticed that Cliff had also turned on his tape player—playing it quiet enough that it wouldn’t wake Kirk up right off the bat (to be completely honest, at this point it took a lot to wake Kirk up, especially when it came to music), but playing it all the same. Kirk’s first guess was Misfits, just based on who Cliff was as a person, but then he listened a little closer and then—

“What the _fuck_ , is that _Dave_?”

“It sure is,” Cliff said. “I figured I would give album number one a listen, and fucking lord they need a real vocalist.”

Kirk nodded. It was always a little bit weird when they brought up Dave. For Cliff, at least, it wasn’t as weird as when James or Lars brought him up—James sometimes looked a little _wistful_ , which was kind of weird, and how Lars talked about him depended on who else was around. Because there was no doubt that Dave Mustaine could play the guitar. Dave was faster than anyone Kirk knew; his fingers moved so fast over the strings it was a miracle that he was hitting anything at all.

But, as Kirk told himself and anyone else who asked him if he felt like he wasn’t quite filling the shoes of Dave Mustaine, there’s more to playing guitar than being fast.

“My favorite thing is when they play ‘The Four Horsemen’ and use his shitty lyrics,” Cliff said. “Fuckin’ great, to have two of the same fuckin’ song out there in the world.”

Kirk huddled a little bit closer to Cliff, out of cold rather than anything else—the room was drafty. Cliff looked down at him, all curled up in a ball, pressed against his side. “I’m glad we got you,” Cliff said. “Honestly, man, not only is your personality not that of a dead fuckin’ giraffe—”

Kirk couldn’t help but snort, a little.

“—but you can play, man. I mean, so can he, but—”

“There’s more to it than just being fast.”

“Exactly,” Cliff said. “Sometimes you gotta slow down a little, if the song demands it.”

It was times like this that Kirk was reminded that Cliff actually knew some things about music. He wasn’t just garage-taught like the rest of them. Oh, sure, Kirk had studied guitar with some kickass players, but Cliff—

Cliff knew like, actual fucking music _words,_ and stuff. That was the thing about Cliff Burton—he was actually a smart guy. “Yeah,” Kirk said.

Cliff ran a tongue over his teeth and nudged Kirk with his knee. Kirk, who wasn’t expecting it and was a little off-balance already, toppled backward. Cliff flopped down to lie beside him. Pressed one of his palms against the side of Kirk’s head. “There’s something good under that big curly mop of yours,” he said. “I fuckin’ _know_ it.”


End file.
